Tainted Memories
by Pixieblade
Summary: Reach in my pocket for the cigarettes that aren’t there and shock myself with a croaked laugh that’s torn from some part of me that’s bordering on insanity. He’d hate to see me like this, but I can’t seem to help it. I never knew I was this easily broken.


**Tainted Memories**

A giant hand looming out of the dark, pressing in hot and wet against the world below, rumbling aggressively as it flung the stinging rain against the windows of the city. Sighing, my breath leaves white streaks steaming across another window, just another of the faceless windows looking out on this sodden city.

Slipping my glasses off I continue to gaze out into the night. Things are fuzzy, with or without the black frames and glass in front of them. There was really only one thing that was ever clear to me anyways, and with it gone...

I tap out another cigarette, last one, guess I'll have to take a trip to the store, _heh_ maybe it's time I finally stopped for good. He always wanted me to, said they were bad for me; said they'd kill me one day, but he was wrong. It would have been better if they had, but they're taking too damn long to do their job and I'm just so tired.

I run my fingers over the back of my head, nails scrapping the skin in a sad imitation of the way his use to. No way I'd ever be able to replicate that feeling, those nails and claws, the heat radiating from his body as he pushed in closer and closer, it felt like we were trying to _fade_ into one another in the darkness. And now all I want to do is join him, follow him into the cold and leave all this behind. It was never my world anyways, certainly isn't now, not without him.

The glasses lay forgotten on the windowsill as I shuffle towards the kitchen. Week-old curry, can't tell if it's bad or not, that should have warned me off of it if I was smarter, but I'm not, and I don't care. Doesn't matter, don't have much of an appetite anyways. Go through the motions: scoop, chew, swallow, scoop, chew, swallow...and my stomach flips, rebels, scraping of the chair legs on the wood floor, and not for the first time my head is in the sink and I'm expelling something I should never have eaten in the first place. Damn curry, he was right, tastes like shit.

I drag my hand across my mouth, the urge to throw-up still strong in the back of my throat as I gulp down some water from the tap, anything to clear that taste. Reach in my pocket for the cigarettes that aren't there and shock myself with a croaked laugh that's torn from some part of me that's bordering on insanity. He'd hate to see me like this, but I can't seem to help it. I never knew I was this easily broken, figured I was tougher than all this, or at least numb to it.

Sitting in that makeshift emergency room, clutching his hand as Kou cut into his too cold body, the jingling sounds of the shredded bullet casings falling into the pan, the seemingly endless miles of silken thread, the vain attempt to stop fate, to turn back time and force his will upon the gods, all for nothing.

He'd prayed that night. Really, truly prayed. There had been a faint fluttering of eyelashes at around 4am, a soft sigh and gentle smile. He'd cried then, silently, hotly; somewhere in between the tears and kisses he heard the faint plea, "keep living," and a final confession before the eyes slipped shut and the breathing slowed, stopped, and he felt like he had died on that table; his world crashing around him, dark and bitter cold.

There was a new scar on his wrist, Kou had grabbed the scalpel from him before he'd gotten too deep, yelling at him that he was betraying his memory if he just gave in like that, but he didn't care, he couldn't think beyond those last few seconds as his eyes shut for the last time.

So now he wandered through the apartment, their home for the last few years in a daze that bordered on manic depression and tried to figure out what it was that he was still here for. He found the quiet oppressive and hit play on the CD player, curling up on the couch and closed his eyes.

When the joys of living just leave you cold

Frozen from the failing mess you've made your own

And if you want an ending to your screenplay life

Well here's the consolation that will change your heart and mind

All the glitz Messiah's just pass the time

A cure for no real sickness, cross your hopes and die

Your supermarket Jesus comes with smiles and lies

Where justice he delays is always justice he denies

This will make you love again

This will make you love again

This will make you love again

This will make you love again

And now you save

Love again

To feel the rays

Love again

The sweet delays

Love again

And shoot the breeze

Early Thursday mornings, wipe away the flies

The crossfire fight for action in between your thighs

Every touch is sacred, when they leave the room

If I have to switch the lights off, I wanna switch them off with you

This will make you love again

This will make you love again

This will make you love again

This will make you love again

And now you save

Love again

To feel the rays

Love again

The sweet delays

Love again

And shoot the breeze

Love again

He felt the tears come then, remembering the time they picked up the oddly seductive CD. They'd been walking around the arcade and he had heard it piped through the loud speaker. He was surprised that he had wanted it so much, but he always felt things deeper than most, and somehow it had just struck true with him. And the next day there was a new CD in the machine, looping over and over and at night, when they had finally gone to be he realized why he had wanted it.

As they pressed in closer together, breath hot and steamy as tongues roved and fingers probed farther into the darkness and they fought for control and finally threw it all away and lost themselves completely to the other, and he understood; this was them, each and every hard line, soft curve and heady taste, this was their life and he never wanted it to end.

The song was right, this made him love again, and love stronger, fiercer than before, but it didn't mean he'd forget, or find someone else, there would only ever be him, in his heart, in his mind, in every breath of everyday, until he once more stood by his side.

He walked back to the window and looked out on his world. The clouds where starting to break-up, the sun's thin watery light vainly struggled to get a foothold as they pushed by. He glanced down to the water slicked street below.

***Crack***

He smiled at the irony, and glanced at the spider web fractures radiating out from the small hole in the glass. He absently groped for his empty cigarette pack as his knees buckled and he slid heavily to the floor.

The song looped again, and as his eyes slid shut he felt a warm brush across his forehead and whispered into the silent night...

"Tokito...."

Fin.


End file.
